


Foundations

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Male Bonding, Mild Profanity, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, QP crushes, some unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Iwaizumi runs into Kageyama Tobio after so many years, it isn't hard to tell that his old kouhai isn't all right. But even as he wants to do something to help Kageyama, Iwaizumi doesn't know if it's his place or if he can give Kageyama what he needs. </p><p>But that's what friends are for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tothemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothemoon/gifts).



> Sooooooo, Recipient Of Mine, I really struggled to meet your requests because our interests don't tend to match up very well. But this story kind of formulated itself, and I'm always here for big brother!Iwa-chan and Kageyama making friends. I hope you like it.

The air smells different here, Iwaizumi thinks as he steps from the front door of his parents' house.

It isn't the first time he's taken a walk since he returned from college two weeks before, but the difference between the scent of Sendai and the ambience of Nagoya is striking. Sendai is sprawling and industrial, while Nagoya is as tightly packed as the sardines that perfume the air within five miles of the docks.

But only one of them smells like home, he muses as a smile tugs on his lips.

Iwaizumi strides into the gym nearest to his house, the one he's frequented since he was fourteen. The guy working the counter and the owner of the gym, Kiyomoto, does a double-take when he sees his newest customer but grins widely when recognition sets in.

"Iwaizumi-kun!" He holds out a large, meaty hand to shake, and Iwaizumi winces at the force of it. "How was university?"

Drawing the older man into a tight embrace, Iwaizumi grins and says, "Graduated with honors. I'm home for a while so I can start looking for a job."

Kiyomoto claps Iwaizumi on the shoulder. "Good for you, son. You're going to be a teacher, right?"

"Yeah, I —" Iwaizumi stops short when he glances out over the fairly empty gym and spies a face he hasn't seen for a long time. "Biology," he mutters as his gaze remains locked on target. "I'll, um, catch up with you in a minute, Kiyomoto-san. I think I see an old friend."

Following Iwaizumi's gaze, Kiyomoto's brows shot up. "That one? He doesn't seem the type to have friends."

"He's not," Iwaizumi says as his feet propel him over to the row of treadmills, where Kageyama Tobio is sprinting full-tilt while sweat pours down his face and neck. "It's nice to see you again," he adds without looking back.

As he approaches Kageyama's treadmill, Iwaizumi notes the clenched, gnashing teeth and the closed eyes almost before he makes out the blare of too-loud headphones to make for an overall unapproachable aura. But he's known this kid for almost ten years and doesn't believe for a moment that Kageyama is a fraction as hostile he looks.

"Hey, Kageyama!" Iwaizumi almost-shouts to breach the barrier of the headphones, with no success. Next he tries waving his hand in front of Kageyama's face, but his eyes don't crack open and skewer this endeavor, as well. Finally, he huffs and taps Kageyama on the arm.

Kageyama's eyes shoot open, his head jerking to the side to spot the source of the interruption. "Iwaizumi-san!" he squeaks before his feet cross one another and he falls face-first onto the running track.

Iwaizumi's hand swats the emergency stop button before he kneels to help Kageyama to his feet. "Oh, hell," he murmurs as he sees Kageyama's bloody nose. His bag slides from his shoulder and he fishes out a clean towel and holds it under the rather brisk flow of blood.

"Are you okay?"

Whatever Kageyama tries to say is obscured by the towel, so Iwaizumi waits until the blood subsides before he asks again. This time, Kageyama nods as he leans his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. "Sorry for the trouble," he says in a garbled voice.

Iwaizumi resists the urge to smack Kageyama on the back of the head. "Don't be. I'm the one who troubled you." He dabs at the blood on Kageyama's chin and frowns at the damage. "I hope it isn't broken."

"No," Kageyama replied. "It's fine." He pulls his blood-covered shirt from his torso in one smooth motion and gives Iwaizumi what he supposes is meant to be a smile. "It's good to see you again, senpai."

With that, Kageyama makes his way towards the changing rooms, leaving Iwaizumi slightly surprised by the abrupt brush-off. It isn't until he spies Kageyama's water bottle sitting in the holster of the machine that he even conceives the idea of following.

Iwaizumi scratches his head as he gazes in Kageyama's wake. The kid has always been a little but weird, but Iwaizumi can't recall his former kouhai walking away from him without excusing himself. While most social niceties tend to escape Kageyama he knows, that isn't one of them. Curious about when that change came about, he decides to follow.

In the changing rooms, Kageyama is aggressively stuffing his workout gear into his bag. Iwaizumi frowns. While falling on his face must have embarrassed Kageyama, Iwaizumi doesn't know why he is so eager to be shot of him. Sure, they were rivals in high school, but that was a long time ago and Kageyama doesn't seem the type to hold onto things like that like Oikawa does.

"Hey, you forgot your bottle," he says, not certain what else to say. 'Why are you running away from me' doesn't seem like it will earn the desired effect.

When Kageyama winces at his hail, Iwaizumi does, too.

"Th-thank you, Iwaizumi-senpai," Kageyama squeaks as he takes the proffered bottle and jams it into his duffel. He is silent and tightly wound for a while before he hesitantly asks, "How is Oikawa-san?"

Taken aback that Kageyama even asks, Iwaizumi sputters before answering, "He's good. Just graduated from university, and he's moving to Saitama in a couple of weeks. He has a pro tryout."

Kageyama's eyes widen. "He'll win."

Iwaizumi bobs his head in agreement. "He's never given me a reason to doubt him."

The quiet that falls between them is terse and awkward. Finally, Iwaizumi feels like his skin is crawling when he breaks it. "Really, though, I'm sorry I startled you. Let me take you out for coffee to make it up to you."

Shaking his head, Kageyama says, "You don't have to do that. I've had worse."

"But I want to," Iwaizumi answers. "So unless you have somewhere you have to be right now, I'm not going to take no for an answer." He crosses his arms in finality.

Kageyama's gulps before he sighs in acquiescence. With that, they exit the changing rooms together as Iwaizumi waves goodbye to Kiyomoto. They head without question to the coffee shop two blocks over, as anyone who lives in the area knows it's the best java joint in the city. Iwaizumi orders a tall caramel latte, while Kageyama settles for green tea.

As they settle with their drinks, Iwaizumi finds his mind wandering to the boy sitting across from him, studying his cup like it will explode in his hands. The only place he ever remembers Kageyama being comfortable is on a volleyball court. However, his time at Karasuno ended a couple of years ago, but Iwaizumi doesn’t think that would be the end of volleyball for someone like Kageyama. He says as much, not missing the subtle crumple of Kageyama’s cup in his clenched hand.

“Dude, you’re gonna burn yourself if you don’t stop choking the life out of your cup.” Iwaizumi pointedly glances at the lid of the cup starting to pop off. “You’re a setter. Take better care of your hands.”

Kageyama’s shoulders shrivel into his slumped form, making him look to Iwaizumi very much like a soggy kitten. He sighs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to mother you. It’s sort of a habit by now.” Iwaizumi’s brow furrows. “You _are_ still playing, right?”

He watches Kageyama closely as he sips his coffee. A plethora of expressions play out on his face, and Iwaizumi can name a few of them. Anger. Disappointment. Regret. “Oh.”

Not sure what else to say, Iwaizumi offers, “Well, I don’t really play much, either. I made the team in college, but I barely ever got to play. Never got to start. It’s okay, though. I’m not going to give up the game. Wherever I get a job, I hope to be a coach or advisor. And there are always rec leagues.”

Kageyama blinks at him. “Are you a teacher?”

Nodding, Iwaizumi gives Kageyama a crooked smile. “Yeah. Just got my certificate a few weeks ago. I’m probably going to teach biology and physical education.”

“You’ll be a great teacher,” Kageyama says softly. “You were always nice to me, even when I was being annoying.”

Iwaizumi chortles. “You weren’t annoying. You just wanted to learn. If anything, I’ve always felt bad that I didn’t help you more.”

Blinking rapidly, Kageyama murmurs, “Iwaizumi-senpai . . .”

There is a strained pause before Iwaizumi chuckles and ruffles Kageyama’s hair. “Stop looking like you’re still surprised people actually like you.”

This draws a barely-there smile out of Kageyama, something Iwaizumi can’t recall seeing. There is a tightness in his chest as he drinks it in, knowing he is privy to something rare and that he brought it to life. The sight makes part of him want to prolong it as much as possible.

“Does your face still hurt?”

Or not.

Iwaizumi wants to slap the words back into his mouth, but as he groans and hides his face, he freezes when the last thing he expects to happen does just that.

If seeing Kageyama smile is a novelty, hearing him laugh is an altogether bizarre occurrence. Nose crinkled with lots of teeth, and a rich, deep timbre. All around, a rather attractive laugh, which draws an odd thought from Iwaizumi: he’s glad Oikawa isn’t there, else he might be jealous of this aberrant display.

"You know," Iwaizumi says, "I was worried about you there for a while. You seemed kind of off at the gym, but it looks like I was wrong." He gives Kageyama a measured look. "You wouldn't go and hide something that's bothering you, now would you?"

Kageyama doesn't take the bait, but his rigid expression and audible gulp confirm his earlier suspicion that something is eating at Kageyama other than chronic weirdness. "Well, if you want to talk about anything, just let me know. Whatever's bugging you, you deserve better." Iwaizumi pulls a pen from the pocket of his windbreaker and writes his phone number on the hot cup sleeve from his empty drink.

"It was nice to see you," he adds as he extricates himself from his seat. On the way out, he drops a few hundred yen in the tip jar and gives a slack-jawed Kageyama one last glance before pushing out the door.

It isn't until he's standing in front of Oikawa's door and not the gym that Iwaizumi realizes that he is in need of a second opinion. Surprised that his feet carried him this far of their own accord, he pulls out his phone and calls the second number on his speed dial.

The life comes to life quickly, and a sing-song voice answers, "Iwa-chan, what a lovely surprise!"

Iwaizumi grumbles, "If I pay you, will you finally stop calling me that?"

"My eternal love is worth more than all the money on earth, Iwa-chan. And I chose to share it with my best friend, so no deal."

"I think you're talking to your reflection again, Shittykawa." But even as he says it, Iwaizumi doesn't bother fighting off a smile. "Hey, you are at home, right?"

"Of course," Oikawa replies. "I'm holding court on my gilded throne."

"So you're taking a dump." Iwaizumi rubs his face with his hands on a futile effort to wipe the mental image from his mind's eye. "Oikawa, you're twenty-three years old; you don't need code phrases for using the toilet."

“I’m dignified, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawks.

With a snort, Iwaizumi replies, “I’ll believe that when I see it. Pinch it off. I’m coming in.”

Iwaizumi ends the conversation, relishing Oikawa’s indignant squeak as he opens the front door with the key always hidden under the flower pot. “Tadaima,” he calls at the door as he vaults out of his shoes and up the stairs.

He nudges open the door to Oikawa’s room and wrinkles his nose immediately. If the general disarray doesn’t offend his senses, the weird smell emanating from the room does the trick. Scowling, he flings open the window and angles the small fan humming in the room to point outside.

It isn’t until Iwaizumi is neck-deep in an armful of dirty laundry that Oikawa’s laugh interrupts his almost automatic tidying that he realizes what he’s doing. “Iwa-chan is so helpful,” Oikawa coos as he stretches his arms over his head, still wearing his pajamas despite it being well into the afternoon. “I missed having clean laundry all the time at college.”

“Die, heathen,” Iwaizumi barks as he hefts the pile in Oikawa’s face. Both land with a _thump_ and a satisfied laugh from Iwaizumi. “Seriously, you nasty fuck, clean your room. It smells like ass in here.”

Oikawa sticks out his tongue and pulls down his lower eyelid. “Make me, Iwa-chan. Besides, considering I just got out of the bathroom, of course it smells a little.”

“You’re not shitting out dirty socks and stale underwear, Tooru.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms, quirking a brow. “How did you even make this big a mess? You’ve only been home for a month.”

Though his mouth is open to refute this, Oikawa stops and narrows his eyes. “You want to ask me something but don’t want to bring it up, don’t you?”

“As if I’d ask for your shitty advice,” Iwaizumi snaps, not daring to admit that Oikawa’s assessment is painfully accurate. “I was just going to mention something that happened today, but if you’re going to be _you_ about it, then I won’t!”

Oikawa scoffs. “So, you walked all the way here from your house just to say something you could’ve just mentioned in a text or your supremely ill-timed phone call?” A smirk spreads across his lips. “You underestimate my powers of deduction, Iwa-chan. I’m hurt.”

Iwaizumi picks up a stray pair of trousers and throws them right at Oikawa’s face. “Not hurt enough. And yeah, I came over. Is that really so weird?”

“Nope,” Oikawa says as he deflects the pants. “But you’re being weird, and I want to know why.”

Knowing he’s trapped himself in this childish situation, Iwaizumi sighs heavily and says, “I saw Kageyama today.”

This gets Oikawa’s attention immediately. “How is Tobio-chan?”

“I’m not sure,” Iwaizumi answers, scratching his head as he sits on the edge of Oikawa’s unmade bed. “He’s weird as usual, but there’s something really off about him. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a constipated frown. “You’re asking why _Tobio_ is weird and you wonder why you can’t figure out what’s going on? There hasn’t been a moment in his miserable little life when Tobio-chan hasn’t been off.”

“Will you knock it off with that already!” Iwaizumi snaps more sharply than he intends. He sees Oikawa jolt and rubs his temples. “Sorry. It’s just that he’s a good kid, and he worked hard to learn from his mistakes. I was his senpai, and I owe it to him to make sure he’s not in some kind of trouble.”

An oily smile streaks across Oikawa’s features. “Aww, does Iwa-chan want to take a baby crow under his wing?”

“God, you’re a dick.” Iwaizumi runs his fingers through his unusually long hair and drops back onto the bed. “He’s not playing volleyball anymore.”

Oikawa’s eyes bulge as he plops down next to Iwaizumi. “I think Tobio-chan might be broken.”

Squelching the urge to bark that he just said that, Iwaizumi harrumphs and says, “Yeah.”

“You should try talking to Chibi-chan,” Oikawa offers as he rolls onto his side to face Iwaizumi. “If Tobio-chan ever had something remotely resembling friends, Shorty-kun is definitely at the top of the list.”

“Hmm.” Iwaizumi sits up and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Good idea,” he mutters as he pounds out a quick text to a number he has never used. He hopes to himself that it’s still in service.

The chime of a reply comes more quickly than expected, along with a grinning emoji that draws a smile out of Iwaizumi. _Thanks_ , he replies before saving the fresh phone number into his contacts under Hinata Shouyou.

His phone is wrenched out of his hands abruptly as Oikawa glares at the screen. ”She gave _you_ her number and not me?” Dropping the phone on the bed, Oikawa turns away. “It’s like turning down a prince to hang out with a troll.”

“I desperately want to punch you right now,” Iwaizumi growls as he picks up his phone. “If you knew Shimizu-san at all, you’d know exactly why she doesn’t want to talk to you. Your personality is as loud as a marching band and stinks like Makki’s gym bag.”

Oikawa shrieks for him to take back the insult or else, and soon they dissolve into a pile of laughter as he futilely tries to make good on that threat. The endeavor ends with Oikawa’s head stuffed mercilessly under Iwaizumi’s arm as he squirms to free himself.

“All right, I’m sorry!” When Iwaizumi releases him, Oikawa tries and fails to pat his hair back down. “Mean, Iwa-chan!”

Sighing, Iwaizumi lies back on the bed and starts a new text.


	2. Chapter 2

Talking to Hinata-kun had not been fruitful in terms of information about Kageyama’s current state of mind, but Iwaizumi thinks he has a good idea how it might have happened.

_He hasn’t answered any of my messages for almost two months, Iwaizumi-san. Is he okay?_

Iwaizumi toyed with the idea of saying no, but all he has is a theory. Instead, he replies, _I hope so. Maybe he just needs a break._ The words sound like a platitude to Iwaizumi, but he has no reassurances to give. If he didn’t think Kageyama needed help, he wouldn’t be talking to someone he’s only exchanged a handful of words with in passing several years before.

So, Kageyama is in the national team system, according to Hinata. A national team that had briefly been Oikawa’s home away from home during his college team’s off-season. In Tokyo.

The question that brews in Iwaizumi’s mind the heaviest is why, if he’s on a fast track to the pros and good enough to remotely be considered to represent Japan internationally, Kageyama is sweating his balls off in a gym in Sendai when he should be in Tokyo. He can come up with a couple of answers, and most of them don't bode well for Kageyama’s future in volleyball.

Later that night, Iwaizumi texts Hinata again for one last request, one Hinata is happy to oblige. He doesn’t bother waiting to send a text to Kageyama once he has a current phone number.

_Hey, Kageyama. It’s Iwaizumi again. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from Hinata-kun. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out again soon. Have you seen the new Marvel movie yet? If not, we could go see that and get something to eat. Or do something else._

Iwaizumi wants to un-send the text as soon as it zips off into the wireless ether. If Kageyama is anything above a blithering idiot, he’ll catch on right away that Iwaizumi is angling something. Then again, Kageyama has always been about as subtle as a rampaging comet, so maybe it has just the right level of undertone.

So he waits.

It’s about three hours later, well after Iwaizumi has climbed into bed for the night and resigned himself to his failure that he receives a reply.

_Sure. I haven’t seen all the movies that are out yet, though._

There is nothing surprising about this to Iwaizumi, so he simply answers, _It’s okay. They do a good job to recap what you need to know from the previous films. Are you available on Saturday?_

Kageyama answers that he is, and Iwaizumi is slightly taken aback by how much he is looking forward to seeing Kageyama again. _I'll pick you up around 17:00. You still live in the same place, right?_

_Yeah. I'll be ready._

The three days it takes for Saturday to come pass by slowly and fretfully for Iwaizumi. More than once, he wonders if he's doing all of this to help Kageyama or to slake his own curiosity. And even if it is the former, he doesn't know if it's out of genuine concern for the kid or if he just feels guilty because he wasn't the senpai he should've been at Kitagawa Daiichi.

But as long as Kageyama gets what he needs it doesn't matter, he reasons as he struggles to find sleep on Friday night.

It's past four in the afternoon when Iwaizumi begins pacing in the garage. He looks repeatedly at his motorcycle, uncertain if he should presume Kageyama is okay with being stuffed into the back of such a vehicle, instead of a safe and economical train. There is an extra helmet, after all.

Iwaizumi just rolls his eyes and grabs both helmets. They don't have to take it to the cinema; Kageyama's house is a five minute walk from a bus stop and ten to the train. He puts the spare helmet and his extra leather jacket into his backpack and takes off to Kageyama's. He arrives fifteen minutes early to a gawking Kageyama, who stares at his bike with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open.

"So cool," Kageyama mutters as he reaches out to stroke the seat. "I'm not even allowed to have a moped."

Raising a brow, Iwaizumi muses out loud, "Aren't you a little old for your parents to tell you that you can't drive?"

Kageyama shakes his head. "It's not that. It's just —" He sighs. "Forget it."

This makes Iwaizumi want to shake Kageyama. He knows Kageyama was a moment away from telling him what has been going on in his life, and he snatches it away just as handily. "Well, if you decide you're actually allowed to learn, let me know. We can just walk to the bus or the train from here, or we can ride. I've got extra gear. Whatever you want."

“Ride,” Kageyama says without hesitation. Iwaizumi looks him over head to toe and figures he’s dressed well enough to ride comfortably — jeans and a long-sleeve tee. He accepts the offered jacket and helmet, donning them with little difficulty and not balking at the small sliver of seat behind Iwaizumi on the bike.

It’s an odd feeling, the bulk of Kageyama’s torso flush against Iwaizumi’s back. However, the lack of tension is a relief, Kageyama isn’t scared or nervous as far as Iwaizumi can tell, but how it will go on the road remains to be seen.

“Now, you need to hold on tight to me,” Iwaizumi warns. “Your hands are the only thing keeping you on the back when we go around turns. You got it.”

He doesn’t even need to see the curt nod to know it’s there. With a hint of a smile, he kicks down on the pedal and lets his smile widen into a grin as he feels the power surge beneath him and all through his body. Kageyama’s fingers dig into the taut flesh of Iwaizumi’s belly as they pull out of the drive.

At the next light, Iwaizumi turns back and shouts, “You good?”

“This is so cool!” Kageyama cries in answer, his voice much higher and brighter than usual. The thought makes Iwaizumi’s chest tingle a little, knowing he has broken Kageyama out of his shell somewhat.

Soon, they pull into the complex that houses the cinema and several restaurants. As they stop, Iwaizumi says, “Be careful getting off. The tailpipes are hot.” But before he’s even done speaking, Kageyama is already off and standing wobbly-legged. “Are you okay?”

Shaking, Kageyama’s fists ball up and a satisfied smile slips into place. “Th-thank you for letting me ride with you, Iwaizumi-senpai.”

Iwaizumi laughs and claps Kageyama on the shoulder. “You’re a natural rider. I could feel you leaning into the turns and holding on right when you needed to. Between you and me, Oikawa didn’t even make it a block before I had to let him off.”

Knowing he has outmatched his old senpai-slash-nemesis at something has the desired effect on Kageyama. Iwaizumi decides not to share that little tidbit later on when he’ll inevitably be grilled about his day, but he means what he said. Kageyama really has a natural affinity to the flow of a motorcycle.

After they purchase their movie tickets, they decide to kill a half hour in a little yakiniku place. As they wait for their ridiculous pile of food to arrive, Iwaizumi regards Kageyama, who is drooling in anticipation just a bit. He thinks that this is the Kageyama he wishes everyone knows but doesn’t — brought to life by simple pleasures.

“You know,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, a though flowing out of him that he has tossed around for a while, “we’ve known each other for a long time. It really isn’t necessary to use an honorific when you talk to me alone.”

Kageyama blinks rapidly, coloring before he stutters, "A-are you s-sure, Iwaizumi-senpai? It seems so . . . close."

"Is that a problem for you?" Iwaizumi feels his gut drop as he considers the idea that Kageyama might only be spending time with him out of respect rather than a desire to do so. He decides to nip the issue in the bud. "You  _are_ allowed to say no to me. About anything. And I don't want you to feel like you ever have to lie to me, even if you think I might not like it."

For a solid minute, Iwaizumi watches as Kageyama struggles to formulate a reply, only to be rescued by the arrival of their food. They eat in relative silence, but he can practically see the cogs in Kageyama's head spinning as he processes Iwaizumi's request.

After eating enough food for a dozen people, they leave a generous tip and stagger back to the cinema. They both gag slightly at the smell of popcorn, but as soon as they take their seats and the previews start to roll, everything else starts to fade away.

Once the movie ends and they spill out of the building on wobbling legs, Iwaizumi elbows Kageyama and asks, "So, which one is your favorite?"

"Movie or superhero?"

"Superhero," Iwaizumi says, wondering if he has finally found common ground with Kageyama outside of volleyball, if the sparkle in his junior's eyes are any indication.

Kageyama answers without hesitation, "Hulk."

Iwaizumi grins. "That's cool. Captain America has always been my favorite. I've always admired how hard he tries to stay honest and down to earth. He's everything I've ever wanted to be."

Nodding, Kageyama stops and looks at Iwaizumi. "I remember when a bunch of us on the team in middle school went to watch the first Avengers when it came out. Captain America made me think of you right away."

"Wow," Iwaizumi mutters as his cheeks turn pink, "that's honestly one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me."

They're both blushing now.

The feel of Kageyama pressed up against his back is comfortable to Iwaizumi now as they cruise back to Kageyama's house. It’s been years since anyone has had to lean on him, aside from Oikawa’s allergy to being an attentive boyfriend and keeping his place in line moving at college volleyball practices.

When they arrive, Iwaizumi waits for Kageyama to dismount before following suit, but the latter makes no move to get off the bike. Curious, Iwaizumi pops off his helmet and glances over his shoulder. “You okay?”

Kageyama is gazing off past both of them at some spot in the distance, but the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice breaks him out of his trance and he scrambles off the bike. “Sorry!” he offers as he carefully removes his borrowed gear. He bows low and says, “Thank you for having me!”

Iwaizumi sighs, resigning himself to the constant presence of Kageyama’s awkward reverence. “I hope you had a good time, Kageyama. It was nice getting to know you better.”

Kageyama looks surprised at this and nearly drops his armload of stuff. “Th-thank you, Iwaizumi-s—” He stops mid-word. “It was also nice to spend time with you, I-Iwaizumi.”

Despite the sour lemons that must have inspired the face Kageyama is making, Iwaizumi can’t help but enjoy Kageyama trying to treat him as an equal. It will probably be ages before it’s instinctual, but Iwaizumi isn’t averse to waiting that long.

“You’re welcome,” he says finally, a persistent smile tugging at his lips. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you go to college?”

As soon as the words leave Iwaizumi’s mouth, the looseness in Kageyama’s posture snaps back into rigidity. Looking anywhere but at Iwaizumi, Kageyama mutters, “I didn’t.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi’s brows knit as he drapes his jacket over the motorcycle seat. “Then where have you been playing? The thought of you being out of volleyball is, you know, just kind of weird.”

Without preamble, Kageyama slumps to sit on the pavement, his hands covering his face. “Can we . . . not talk about this now?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi assures him quickly, stunned at how quickly Kageyama had closed in on himself. “I told you that you can tell me anything. That includes telling me to shut up when I don’t catch a hint.” He walks over to Kageyama’s hunched form and ruffles his hair. “But when you want to talk to someone, you know where to find me.

“Later, Kageyama,” he adds with a wave as he gears up and mounts his bike. It’s dark by the time Iwaizumi leaves Kageyama’s house, but he doesn’t think he’ll be sleeping anytime soon. Instead of returning home, he systematically laces every street between Kageyama’s house and his own in an effort to ease away this clutch of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

He’s blown it; he knows that. However, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to figure out this overhanging thing that is bothering Kageyama and punch it in the face — figuratively, literally, whatever it takes to work it out.

Iwaizumi isn’t even surprised when he ends up at Oikawa’s door this time.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, you just went on a date with Tobio-chan?”

Oikawa’s face is very close to Iwaizumi’s, his breath sweetened by the junk food he probably shouldn’t be eating. There is a leering smile on his lips that makes Iwaizumi want to both hide and punch his friend in the face, and he has no idea which urge will win out.

The weird mood is broken when Oikawa reels back and lets out a belly laugh. “Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbles as he crosses his arms and looks away. “Asshole.”

When Oikawa catches his breath, he leans over Iwaizumi and asks, “What was that even _like_? He has the personality of wet grass.”

This rankles something in Iwaizumi. “Shut up. You don’t even know him, Oikawa. Just because he annoyed you a hundred years ago doesn’t mean he deserves to lose everything he’s ever worked for.”

They’re both surprised at the vehemence in Iwaizumi’s tone, but he refuses to apologize. Oikawa merely nods and sits on the edge of his bed next to Iwaizumi. “I asked around, by the way. Like Chibi-chan said, Tobio was in the national team program. But he left a couple of months ago and nobody really knows why, or if they do, they’re not telling.”

“He isn’t either,” Iwaizumi murmurs, looking at his hands knotted in his lap.

He hates these kinds of things. He’s a hands guy; if he can touch it and mold it, he can understand and fix it. But these mental things are completely Oikawa’s territory. Also, while Iwaizumi understands the setter’s role, he doesn’t have near the amount of experience necessary to coach one through whatever is ailing his game. All he can do is do what he did with Oikawa all those years ago and smack the sense back into his head so he can figure it out himself. It doesn’t seem like this will help Kageyama, considering Iwaizumi has already given the poor guy a bloody nose.

An idea skitters into his forethought, but as quickly as it appears, Iwaizumi promptly banishes it. There is no way. He won’t even ask because he knows the answer before the question leaves his lips.

Of course Oikawa works it out even as Iwaizumi struggles with even asking. “You want me to talk to him, don’t you?”

“Want is such a strong word.” Iwaizumi sighs. “I just don’t know what to do for him. Volleyball is everything to him, and he walked away from it. Won’t talk about it. I mean, I barely know him, so who am I to tell him anything?”

“You’re his friend, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. Iwaizumi starts at this softly spoken sentiment and gapes at Oikawa. The latter blushes and looks away. “Shut up.”

Iwaizumi grins. “You are a giant softie, Oikawa. I think this bothers you more than you’re letting on.”

“Of course it bothers me!” Oikawa squawks. “He came close to overtaking me, so he better not _dare_ fail now. It’ll make me look bad.” He crosses his arms and harrumphs.

“Sure, I’ll pretend to buy that.” Iwaizumi looks back and forth between his long-time best friend and his own helpless hands before raking his fingers through his hair. “Please, Oikawa.”

Oikawa stares at him intently. “You really want to help him, don’t you?”

Iwaizumi buries his face in Oikawa’s pillow and growls, annoyed that his frustration is muffled by the softness. Finally, he rolls over and throws an arm over his eyes. “How am I ever supposed to become a teacher if I can’t even help out someone I owe it to?”

“You really do care about Tobio-chan, Hajime.” Oikawa gently lifts Iwaizumi’s arm off his face and pats his cheek. “Let Oikawa-san help you. You won’t regret it.”

Frowning, Iwaizumi raises a brow and says, “Now that’s just ominous.”

 

 

He gets the text early the next morning.

_Why did Oikawa-san text me demanding a game?_

Iwaizumi nearly drops his phone on his face when he reads this, not even sure where to start in tearing Oikawa an entire galaxy of new ones. Not wanting to touch that landmine before it explodes in his face, Iwaizumi replies to Kageyama instead, _I didn’t know, but I’ll ask him._

Kageyama’s reply is quick and surprises Iwaizumi almost as much as the first one. _I don’t mind. I think it might be good for me anyway. Sometimes, when he’s trying to make me look and feel stupid, he ends up helping me. It’s weird, but I think I can take it._

Iwaizumi scrolls over the words on his phone’s screen over and over, not believing what he’s reading until every last stroke of the hiragana burns into his eyeballs. “I mean it, Kageyama,” he mutters aloud to himself, “you always have ripped my expectations to shreds.”

His phone rings a few minutes later, and he knows the name on the caller ID without looking at it. “What were you thinking?” Iwaizumi barks without preamble.

Oikawa chuckles on the other side of the line. “There’s really no better way to find out what’s ailing a setter than to see how he plays. I made a few calls and set something up. I think Tobio-chan would really like it if you were there, but _I_ want you there so you can stop doubting me at some point.”

“You’re not going to tell me what it is until it happens, are you?” Iwaizumi asks resignedly.

“That would spoil the surprise.” Oikawa chuckles. “Besides, I think you’ll like this, too. We get to do something we haven’t done in a long time. All I need you to do is keep Tobio-chan from chickening out of it.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “What makes you think I won’t chicken out of it, considering you aren’t nearly as talented at subterfuge as you think you are."

“I’ll ignore that utter lack of belief in me and remain your faithful helper, Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi can hear the utter lack of hurt in Oikawa’s voice, and it is unexpectedly fortifying. “Just trust me. We’ll get Tobio-chan back on track.”

With a chortle, Iwaizumi admits, “Kageyama actually said he wasn’t worried about it, that the more you insult him and do nasty things, the better he ends up getting. How does it feel for your old kouhai to know the real you. You know, that slimy troll that lives under a bridge and eats underclassmen like popcorn?”

The call ends with Oikawa’s indignant squawking, but Iwaizumi feels much better about the endeavor than he did before Oikawa called. Fighting off a smile, he sends a new text to Kageyama. _Hey, you want to hang out today?_

Kageyama answers almost immediately. _Will Oikawa-san be there?_

_No!_ Iwaizumi rubs his temples before adding, _And you don’t have to go along with whatever he’s doing. He won’t tell me either, so if you want out, I’ll duct tape him to a flagpole or something until you can escape and change your phone number. Okay?_

_It's all right. I haven't played in a while, and it feels weird. What did you want to do?_

Iwaizumi doesn't realize his heart has been beating fast until he exhales heavily in relief. He hasn't chased Kageyama away, and neither has Oikawa's probably-harebrained scheme. There is actually nowhere Iwaizumi has in mind to take Kageyama, other than wanting to make sure that his new friend isn't his ex-friend after his lack of tact last time they met.

He hopes his spinning thoughts don't seep into his words as he replies,  _Whatever you want to do. I got to pick last time._

However, Iwaizumi is fairly certain he owes Oikawa a truckload of milk bread when Kageyama replies,  _I was wondering if we could just play volleyball._

_Sure_ , Iwaizumi answers before rolling out of bed and fishing his recently ill-used volleyball gear from his closet. His bag is haphazardly stuffed full when he follows up with,  _When are you free?_

_I'm always free_.

These words crash into Iwaizumi's chest. He doesn't need to be a mind-reader to hear the loneliness in them. All it does is strengthen his resolve that he's doing the right thing for Kageyama and not just for himself.

They meet at the gym two hours later, and Iwaizumi almost laughs when he sees that Kageyama is wearing his old Karasuno kit to offset Iwaizumi's rapidly decaying Aobajousai warm-ups. "Tongues are gonna wag," he says as he lightly elbows Kageyama.

"Seven wins, three losses," Kageyama replies with a glint in his eye. At Iwaizumi's blank expression, Kageyama explains, "Karasuno's record against Aobajousai since you and Oikawa-san graduated."

Blinking in surprise, Iwaizumi wonders both how he doesn't already know that and also how far Kageyama had really left high school behind. "Don't tell Kindaichi," he murmurs with a snort, hoping the latter went be an issue for whatever Oikawa has cooking.

Kageyama nods solemnly. "I never got the chance. I haven't spoken a word to him since that first practice match."

Iwaizumi frowns at this. "That's too bad, man. You guys were pretty good friends in middle school. I always thought you'd make it past all that Kitaichi junk and at least be on good terms."

"So did I," Kageyama grunts as Iwaizumi presses his shoulders forward to stretch. "That feels good. I haven't had a good partner stretch a while."

"Well, after helping Oikawa rehab more times than I ever care to count, I had to get good at it." He pushes Kageyama down to the mat and racks his leg back almost to his face. "Shit, you are flexible. No wonder you never get hurt."

Kageyama blushes. "I try to take care of myself. I remember you warning me not to hurt myself when I first got to Kitagawa Daiichi. In the beginning, I just did it because you were a senpai, but when I saw what Oikawa-san did to himself, I did it because it was necessary."

With a harrumph, Iwaizumi remarks, "At least one of you listened to me. Oikawa almost lost his career because of his stupid inferiority complex."

"I'm sorry I make him act like that," Kageyama says quietly.

Iwaizumi's hands clench down painfully on Kageyama's calf as he takes in those words. "Don't ever blame yourself for what Oikawa did then, or what he does now. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine. It was my job to keep Oikawa in check and to protect you from that. I didn't do either and I've regretted that for so long." He sets down the leg on his hand with a sigh and slumps. "You'll never know how sorry I am for that."

Kageyama's hand covers his. "It's okay."

Both of them look down at their joined hands at the same time, faces reddening in sync as they rapidly withdraw and look away.

They finish stretching in silence, Iwaizumi also relishing the feel of Kageyama's strong, deft hands prying away the disuse from his muscles. Soon, they are peppering the ball back and forth, and Iwaizumi appreciates Kageyama's contained power, distributed into perfect portions for every hit.

"I've gotta tell you," Iwaizumi says when they wrap up their first exercise, "I'm kind of dying to hit one of your tosses. I probably can't hit your freak quick like you did with Hinata-kun, but even my setters in college were nothing like you or Oikawa."

Kageyama nods as he looks around the gym. His eyes narrow and fix on the retracted basketball hoop on the opposite side of the court. "Are you ready?"

Though he had no idea what he's waiting for, Iwaizumi nods. He starts when Kageyama takes one of the balls they brought and aims it at the backboard. Iwaizumi marvels as it sails back to their side of the court in a perfect arc towards mid-court; in his awe, Iwaizumi nearly misses the receive but manages to sent out back to the setter's position at the correct height.

Blood rushes through Iwaizumi as he starts his run up, pooling in his feet as he plants and thrusts up from the floor. The ball slips past his outstretched hand, missing by a few inches as he lands in what feels like slow motion.

"Damn it," Kageyama hisses as he stomps off to retrieve the ball.

Iwaizumi gapes at Kageyama. "How the hell did you do that? That had to be eighty feet in one direction."

Kageyama shrugs. “I just do it.” He returns to their side of the court and holds up the ball. “Again?”

“Sure.” Iwaizumi watches in wonder as Kageyama hits the ball in the exact same place on the backboard and careens once again to the dead center of the court. This time, however, he’s ready for the receive and sends it to Kageyama without incident.

And he misses again.

After four failed spikes, each varying in their degree of incompletion, Iwaizumi simply stares at his hands and murmurs, “Am I really that slow now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi sees Kageyama slump to the floor, fingers roughly jerking on his hair as his chest heaves. “Notagainnotagainnotagainnotagain —”

Iwaizumi drops to his knees and shakes Kageyama by the shoulder. “Dude, stop freaking out. It’s fine.”

“Y-you don’t u-understand,” Kageyama rasps. “It happened again. I can’t do this again. They won’t ever take me back.”

One by one, the pieces fall in place for Iwaizumi. “That’s why you left, isn’t it? You hit a rough patch and they sent you home?”

Kageyama hugs his knees and buries his face in them as he roughly nods. There is an ache in Iwaizumi’s chest as he takes in the sight of someone as strong and talented as Kageyama crippled by his own psyche. There’s no mistaking it now.

Hands smoothing down Kageyama’s arms, Iwaizumi shushes Kageyama’s hysterical breathing. It takes several minutes for Kageyama to stop shaking in Iwaizumi’s grasp, and the latter could only pull the younger man into his arms and hold onto him.

“I understand. I understand and I’m going to help you however I can. Just stay with me, okay?”

They change back into their street clothes quietly, and Iwaizumi walks Kageyama home, only leaving under vehement insistence that he will be okay on his own. Iwaizumi is barely three steps around the corner of the block before he pulls out his phone and calls Oikawa.

Ignoring the cheery greeting, Iwaizumi says through gritted teeth, “Whatever you’re planning, stop.”

“Rude Iwa-chan is rude. At least say hello before you start barking orders I have no intention of following.”

“Damn it, Oikawa, I mean it!” Iwaizumi growls. “I don’t think Kageyama can take any of your hair-brained schemes right now. I know what’s going on. He’s —”

“Tobio-chan has the yips,” Oikawa finishes, making Iwaizumi stop dead in his tracks.

“What?” Iwaizumi blinks as he stares blindly at the familiar streets, jaw slack. “You knew?”

“I figured it out.” Oikawa sighs. “I might have watched some video of his last few scrimmages. And I also know that he’s a dumb baby who can’t deal with pressure when he’s the cause of the problem, so it wasn’t too hard to work out.”

Iwaizumi drops his phone before scrambling to pick it up. He’s relieved that nothing is cracked and that the connection isn’t broken. “Okay, Oikawa. I’m coming over, and you’re going to start from the beginning.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Again!” Oikawa orders as Kageyama misses yet another toss.

Iwaizumi leans forward, hands on his knees as he gasps for air. It’s been five hours of this, and his lungs, his legs, his everything are burning. But even as his resolve wavers to keep up this mad training menu of Oikawa’s to help Kageyama overcome his yips, he sees that the other two are still as resolute as they were from the first failed set.

No, he can’t quit now, so instead, he treads heavily back to the baseline to prepare for the next ball Oikawa sends over the net. “Bring it,” he shouts.

It’s a perfect receive — after so many in a row, Iwaizumi doesn’t ever remember his receives being this smooth and perfect — and it sails right to the setter’s spot. Kageyama’s fingers are outstretched in wait as Iwaizumi starts his run up, and the ball springs from his fingers just as Iwaizumi launches himself in the air with everything he has left.

This time, despite his leaden limbs, there is a whole different feel to the play. He can see the ball so clearly, even down to the stitches, and there seems to be an eternity for him to swing his arm and send the ball speeding down on the other side of the count.

The sound of the ball as it strikes the meat of his hand is comfortable and so very familiar to Iwaizumi, after a decade or so of hitting Oikawa’s tailor-made tosses. He ignores the squawk of protest as the ball hits Oikawa square in the face, smashing his glasses into his cheeks, and Iwaizumi turns to Kageyama and claps him hard on the shoulder. “That toss was perfect!”

“Iwa-chan is a brute!” Oikawa laments as he pries his now-bent frames off his face and rubs the angry red marks they leave behind.

“Shittykawa-chan should know better than to step onto a court with his designer glasses,” Iwaizumi answers out of habit as he takes in the sight of Kageyama.

Hands trembling slightly looks back and forth between Iwaizumi and the ball, which has since rolled off to the corner of the gym, Kageyama’s fists ball as he throws his head back and howls, “YESSSSSSSSSSS!”

Iwaizumi can’t help but smile at this. There is a rare, joyful levity to his kouhai’s face that has appeared precious few times since they’ve known each other. The only instances he ever remembers were always with Hinata at Karasuno, and something in him burns in satisfaction that he is able to bring that sliver of happiness to Kageyama.

“You want to do another one?” Iwaizumi asks, ignoring his screaming muscles.

Oikawa ducks under the net, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose as he holds up his hands. “That’s enough.” Both Iwaizumi and Kageyama look at Oikawa in surprise. “You did it once. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

Looking over at Kageyama, Iwaizumi’s eyes widen when he sees that the former is biting onto his wobbling lower lip before he lowers himself in a deep bow and loudly declares, “Thank you!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as Oikawa dives to the side of the court for his gym bag, fishing out his phone to take a picture. “It’ll be good this time,” he grumbles to himself, holding it up to take a selfie with Kageyama’s prostrate form. Iwaizumi snatches the phone away before leaning over and holding out his other hand to Kageyama.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his throat oddly tight as Kageyama gazes up at him like has just done something miraculous and not just hit a spike.

When Kageyama is upright once again, Iwaizumi throws one arm over his shoulder and the other one over Oikawa’s. He squashes them together and takes a picture of the three of them instead.

After he releases a protesting Oikawa, Iwaizumi holds the phone screen closer so he can look at the snapshot. Oikawa’s hair is mussed, and his face is scrunched up in displeasure. Iwaizumi himself looks relieved. But what he can’t look away from is the serene, dopey smile on Kageyama’s face. With a few keystrokes, he sends the picture to himself twice for good measure.

“Now we’re done,” Iwaizumi says as he thrusts the phone back into Oikawa’s hands.

“Ugh, I look terrible!” Oikawa buries his face in his hands. “Don’t look at me, I’m hideous!”

“What else is new,” Iwaizumi retorts, and Kageyama snorts in response. He turns to Kageyama, brow raised, and asks, “Same time tomorrow?”

There is a sharpness to Kageyama’s gaze that gives Iwaizumi chills. This is the creature he remembers, fiercely competitive and ready to take on the world.

“Yes.”

But as Iwaizumi bobs his head in agreement and turns to leave, Kageyama reaches out and grasps his hand firmly. “Iwaizumi-san.”

“Hmm?” Iwaizumi takes in Kageyama’s earnest expression and appreciates it anew. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to do what Kageyama’s just done. Having his dream taken away from him by something he can’t see, touch, or hear. Leave it behind him. Accept help from someone he is sure hates him. Trying again and again with no guarantee that it will ever work.

As if he’s sharing Iwaizumi’s rumination, Kageyama reddens and lowers his eyes. “Never mind. Thank you for your time.”

_Well, at least some things never change_ , Iwaizumi thinks with a chortle as Kageyama skitters off to the changing rooms. There is a wide smile on his face as he follows suit, but as his hand falls on the door handle, Oikawa grips his shoulder.

“Do you think he’s ready?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa looks at the door Kageyama had disappeared through and stares at it for a long moment before answering, “If he manages a few more tomorrow, I think so.”

Iwaizumi reaches up and rests his hand over Oikawa’s. “Thank you for doing this. I know you don’t like him, but you really did know what he needed.”

Oikawa crosses his arms and turns up his nose. “Well, what good is being the best setter in Japan if there’s no dumb, bowl-cut puppy nipping at my heels in second place?”

“Ha!” Iwaizumi socks Oikawa on the shoulder. “Coming from you, that’s practically an ode.”

“Shut up!”

 

 

It takes three more intense practice sessions (though not nearly as long) before Kageyama successfully completes more tosses than he misses, and by the end of that last session, they only miss one out of five.

After each one, Kageyama stands just a little bit taller and walks off the court a little more reluctantly. Iwaizumi is finally looking forward to the finale that Oikawa has set up, which is scheduled to take place the next night.

The gym is booked for a two hour block, and while Oikawa won’t say exactly what will happen, Iwaizumi hopes it will be enough for Kageyama to blast through his mental block and walk back into the national team camp with his head held high.

However, it isn’t until Iwaizumi is strapping his duffel to the back of his motorcycle that he realizes what that will mean: if Kageyama gets his game back, he’s going to leave for Tokyo soon after. Their budding kinship will wither away to texting, then to a random message here and there on Facebook, and eventually down to wondering if the month they’ve spent together ever really happened.

This thought weighs on Iwaizumi’s mind as he mounts his motorcycle with unease.

The first thing Iwaizumi notices when he strides into the gym, waving hello to Kiyomoto at the desk as usual, is the mish-mash of black-and-orange and turquoise-and-white bags dotting the sidelines.

When he looks across the court, he sees Hinata and Watari stretching together while Kindaichi and Four-Eyes from Karasuno set up the net poles. “What the hell,” he mumbles under his breath.

Oikawa saunters up beside Iwaizumi and throws an arm around his shoulder. "Isn't it beautiful, Iwa-chan? Everyone coming together to help poor, hapless Tobio-chan with a friendly game of volleyball."

Understanding finally dawns. "So that's what you've been planning. Some familiar faces to get him back on track?" He bites his tongue to keep from admitting that it is a pretty good idea. Instead, he asks, "Do any of them know about what's wrong with him?"

Nodding, Oikawa points to a white-blond guy he vaguely remembers as the upperclassmen whose roster spot Kageyama had taken when he arrived at Karasuno. "Refreshing-kun knows, but only because he refused to cooperate until I told him what I was planning and why. He's the one Chibi-chan had me call to put together the old crow pack, and none of those selfish people would help poor Tobio-chan until I told them Refreshing-kun approved." Oikawa crosses his arms and pouts. "He's like their mob boss, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi takes a long look at the supposed monster and has his doubts but keeps that to himself. Rather, he favors looking around the gym to see who else Oikawa has managed to rustle up. From their old Seijou team, he spies Kunimi wheeling out a cart of balls, Matsukawa and Hanamaki shooting each other with sweat bands, and another person sporting one of the old aqua tees from the club. Iwaizumi's eyes bulge when he sees the face attached to the long-ish brown hair. "Is that . . .  _Kyoutani_?"

"Hmmph," Oikawa grunts as he glares at Kyoutani. "He rather rudely rejected my invitation until I told him you would be here. Still no respect."

"No Yahaba?"

Oikawa shakes his head. "His school is on the other side of the country, and he — I quote — 'doesn't like either of us enough to spring for a fifteen-thousand yen bullet train ticket.' We have terrible kouhai, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi replies by pulling the hem of Oikawa's shirt abruptly over his head. As Oikawa shrieks in protest, Iwaizumi looks around to see what the Karasuno contingent has to offer. Besides Hinata and Refreshing-kun, there is the bald wing spiker, their libero, Stubbled Dude (whose beard is rather fearsome in its thickness now), Jump Float Guy, and a pair of stunning girls he remembers as their managers. However, one major presence seems to be wait, where's —"

"Dai-chan is running late, but he'll be here. Their other captain is in film school in Tokyo and can't make it. The lanky one with the buzz cut moved to America last year, and the other one has to work and can't get out of it."

Mouth agape, Iwaizumi looks around the bustling gym and then at Oikawa. “You did all this?”

Shrugging, Oikawa glances at Refreshing-kun. “Well, he arranged for Karasuno to show up, and I just called Watacchi and he took care of the rest. I did, however, reserve the gym.”

“Oikawa, I —” His probably-embarrassing show of gratitude is cut off by the sound of the doors squeaking open yet again. Everyone turns and looks, and this time, it’s a slack-jawed Kageyama, whose bag hits the floor with a heavy _thud_.

The gym snaps into silence until a hum, which starts low and unintelligible, crescendos into the last syllables of Kageyama's name and Hinata launching himself like missile at his old setter. They land on the floor in a tangle of limbs, and immediately, Kageyama loudly proclaims Hinata's lack of intelligence to the amusement of the onlookers.

But as he regains his feet, Kageyama seems to recall where he is and looks at Iwaizumi in askance. "Iwaizumi-san, what's going on?"

Oikawa grins widely, but before he can speak, Iwaizumi grapples Oikawa's head under his arm, ignoring the muffled protests as he replies, "Everyone here has come to help you. Oikawa thought you might recover faster playing with people who know you and you know them. Then you might get your career back."

Finally wresting himself free, Oikawa muttered, "I was going to say that."

"Sure you were," Iwaizumi replies before picking up Kageyama's bag and adding it to the one over his own shoulder. "Let's get changed, and I'll stretch with you."

They ready themselves quickly, and both teams mash together to do warm-ups. Iwaizumi takes a spot in the back of the line so he can observe Kageyama, who does not disappoint. Watari's throw is slightly off, but Kageyama bends his knees to get under it and delivers a high toss well over the net just in time for Kindaichi to smash it to the court.

Kageyama and Kindaichi look at each other for a long, quiet minute while every set of eyes in the room is locked on them. Finally, Kindaichi walks over to Kageyama and holds up both hands. Kageyama flinched slightly until his eyes widen in dawning comprehension. It isn't the best or smoothest double high-five Iwaizumi has ever seen, but it might be the most rewarding one. When Kageyama and Kindaichi end up staring at each other awkwardly, Kunimi clears his throat loudly and the lines move on.

Oikawa switches out with Refreshing-kun and immediately gets in line to hit off of Kageyama. He waves at Iwaizumi, who is in the next line over, and says, "If Tobio-chan doesn't run and hide from me, I think he'll be okay."

Iwaizumi doesn't argue with this logic. Soon, all the party's attendees are warmed up, and they take the court to start the game. Automatically, they sort themselves into Seijou and Karasuno, which makes Oikawa wave his arms in the air and cry, "No, no, no, no,  _no_!" He pushes various players to the opposite side until each team is about half and half. "This is about learning and adapting. You can't do either if the game is rigged to win."

Once Oikawa is done prodding the lineup, Iwaizumi finds himself on a team with Kageyama, Jump Float (whose name, he finally learns, is Yamaguchi), Kindaichi, Hinata, Watari, Sawamura (who barreled into the gym just as spiking drills had started), and Kunimi on the ladder as the referee. The rest collect in the other side, with Oikawa opting to sit out in order to observe.

The first serve is Iwaizumi’s, and he soon fades into the old rhythm of playing the game. The other side receives off-kilter for a chance ball, and Sawamura scoops it up and sends it right into Kageyama’s waiting hands. They all stare a little as Kageyama completes a quick set to Hinata almost as soon as the ball reaches him.

When the ball slaps the floor on the other side, Hinata shouts and almost climbs Kageyama. Iwaizumi can’t help but smile as he takes the ball tossed back over to him for the next service and says, “Nice ball.”

Iwaizumi’s next serve is received squarely and set up for Kyoutani to spike. Watari is there with a spectacular dive. Kageyama’s eyes lock onto Kindaichi, and as soon as the blockers move to cover, he flips it over the net and draws a cackle from Oikawa.

“Tobio-chan is feisty today!” Oikawa calls as he points at Kageyama’s reddening face.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi resets for another service and says with no real malice, “Stop picking on him, Oikawa.”

“I was not!”

From the other side of the net, Matsukawa chortles. “I think it’s genetically ingrained, Oikawa.”

Kunimi blows the whistle extra loud, and the game resumes.

The points fluctuate back and forth between the sides, but Kageyama’s side pulls ahead when he scores two service aces in a row, leading their team to a 25-21 win in the first set. As they go to the bench, all of their teammates clap Kageyama on the shoulders.

Once the crowd around him subsides, Iwaizumi nudges Kageyama and says, "How's it feel?"

Beside him, Kageyama practically vibrates with excitement. "I can do it."

"I never doubted you."

They all settle in to drink the water Karasuno's dark-haired former manager offers (Sawamura calls her Shimizu), and wait for Kunimi to bother climbing the ladder again before getting up for the next set. However, when they line up, Oikawa interrupts once again.

"Now, it's time to switch setters. Tobio-chan, go to the other side, and I trust Refreshing-kun will allow me to play on the other?"

Refreshing-kun gives Oikawa a good-natured smile and a flip of the hand. "Of course. If Kageyama can beat you, he can do anything and he has nothing to worry about."

Hanamaki and Matsukawa snicker at this as Oikawa stomps over to join Iwaizumi's side. "Tobio will never beat me."

"He already has, dumbass," Iwaizumi chides as he flips the ball to Oikawa to serve.

The play goes back and forth as neither side can manage to hold onto a service for more than a turn or two, and soon the score is tied at 23, with Oikawa coming up to serve again. With a smirk, Oikawa holds up the ball as he points directly at Kageyama. "I'm going to squash you, Tobio-chan. Are you ready?"

Iwaizumi is mildly impressed when Kageyama smiles wickedly and replies, "You can try, Oikawa-san. Doesn't mean I'm going to let you."

Even though Oikawa is playing on his side, Iwaizumi can't help but feel like Kageyama's fearlessness will win the game regardless of what Oikawa does. After all, he did play for the National team for two years, on top of his ingrained sense of the sport.

They play all afternoon, with various players taking turns at rotating out and officiating until they are all tired and barely able to stand. Iwaizumi doesn't bother keeping score, since the teams are all jumbled in the end. However, Kunimi edges up next to him in the changing room and softly whispers, "Kageyama's sides won more games than Oikawa-san's, if you were wondering. I would avoid telling him."

With a chortle, Iwaizumi nods. "You always were the smartest guy on the team." Kunimi colors at this, but they go about their business until he realizes both of them are stealing glances over to where Kageyama and Kindaichi are deep into conversation. "Are you guys all good now?"

Kunimi shrugs. "I was never not good, but I think today did Kindaichi some good. I think he needs to see that Kageyama was never half the monster his stupid middle schooler brain thought he was."

“I’m glad,” Iwaizumi says as his gaze stays locked on Kageyama and Kindaichi. “Not making amends with Kindaichi has eaten away at Kageyama for years. I was surprised Kindaichi came today, to be honest.”

Nodding, Kunimi replies, “Same. But when we heard Oikawa-san was setting up a match to help Kageyama, he figured that the sky had already fallen enough for one day and that if _he_ could let go of his dumb issues with Kageyama, we all could.”

Iwaizumi’s reply catches in his throat when he sees Kindaichi throw his head back and laugh at something Kageyama says, and the latter reddens even as he chuckles at his own humor. “He really is a good guy, Kunimi. Don’t let Kindaichi forget that.”

“I won’t,” Kunimi agrees as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’m glad we came, Iwaizumi-san. It was nice to see everyone again, even if I’m going to be sore for a week.”

With that, Kunimi walks over to shake Kageyama’s hand and leaves. One by one, the rest of the party trickles out in much the same fashion, until only Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Kageyama (who is in the shower), and Refreshing-kun remain.

Refreshing-kun holds out his hand to Iwaizumi. “You probably don’t remember me, but my name is Sugawara Koushi. I was Kageyama’s senpai at Karasuno.”

Relieved to finally have a name in his memory other than ‘Refreshing-kun,’ Iwaizumi accepts the handshake and smiles. “Yeah, I remember. Sharp observation skills, annoyingly accurate serve, a smile that seems weird coming after Kageyama.”

Sugawara laughs, a soft, musical sound that almost instinctively puts Iwaizumi at ease. “That’s me.” He slaps Iwaizumi on the shoulder with a grin, and Iwaizumi is pretty sure he won’t feel his hand for the next ten minutes. “Thank you for taking care of him. Maybe he will actually call or text every once in a while with someone besides Hinata.”

Still rubbing his stinging arm, Iwaizumi gives Sugawara a pinched smile and a nod. “My pleasure,” he wheezes as Sugawara makes his exit.

Oikawa wags his brows and leers at Iwaizumi. “Admit it, Iwa-chan. My idea was brilliant and so am I.”

Scoffing, Iwaizumi fires, “I can only say the first half with a straight face.” He looks down at the red blooming on his arm where Sugawara had hit him. “Damn, for a skinny guy, he packs one hell of a punch.”

Sighing, Oikawa squeezes the sore spot and smirks as Iwaizumi winces. “We did it, Iwa-chan. Tobio is ready to spread his wings and fly like the ravenous garbage-eating rat-bird he is.”

Iwaizumi plants a quick kick to Oikawa’s shin but doesn’t retort. He admits to himself that it’s getting a little too weird for Oikawa to maintain this level of kindness towards Kageyama, anyway.

Once Kageyama emerges from the showers, Oikawa needles his old kouhai, who yells in return until Iwaizumi all but dropkicks Oikawa out the door and leaves him alone with Kageyama.

“So, I guess you’ll go back to Tokyo soon.” Iwaizumi gives Kageyama a smile he knows doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s great.”

Kageyama’s head droops as he fidgets in front of Iwaizumi. “The coach said I can go back when I’m ready.”

Iwaizumi nods. “You were in great shape today. I can’t imagine you being any more ready than that.” He raises a brow to Kageyama. “What happened there, anyway? And how did you get something as weird as the yips, when volleyball is as natural as eating to you?”

“I . . .” Kageyama exhales heavily and looks up, biting his lip. “We were at a tournament in Australia, and we were losing to Brazil. Badly.”

“But you’ve lost games before.”

Kageyama shakes his head. “But that wasn’t the problem. I was watching their setter, how sharp his tosses were, how well all of his spikers could hit what he gave them. And then when the first set ended, he gave me this _look_.” He shivers at the memory. “I remember thinking that, if Oikawa-san were a genius, this is what he would be like.”

Gaze sinking to his shoes, Kageyama adds quietly, “I misplaced twelve sets before the coach took me out. I didn’t play another minute for the rest of the tournament, and when we got back, it spilled into practice, and —”

Iwaizumi’s heart lurches when Kageyama’s voice cracks. “It’s okay to be scared.” He sits them both on the bench, shoulders firmly together. “Ushiwaka scared the shit out of me every time we played. He was everything that an ace should be that I wasn’t, and I hated it.”

Eyes wide, Kageyama gapes at Iwaizumi. “B-but Ushiwaka-san is a big dork. I roomed with him at camp once.”

“Ha!” Iwaizumi snickers. “Oddly enough, knowing that after the fact got me through a lot of my college volleyball career. I might have been a benchwarmer, but I was the only guy on the team who had ever played against the top rookie ace in pro volleyball. That had to count for something.”

They grow quiet for a while, with neither meeting the other’s eyes. Iwaizumi can’t help but steal glances at Kageyama, who is still only clad in a towel around the waist. His shoulders are broader than he remembers, arms and chest more well-toned, legs longer. Anyone taking in this sight, a tall and shapely young man with sharp eyes and a quiet demeanor, would never see the fire inside of him that only flares up when he involves himself with volleyball.

It isn’t hard to see how much of Kageyama would be lost without his favorite sport. How one bad turn at a tournament could derail him. How quickly he becomes a shell because of it.

“You’re going to do great, Tobio,” Iwaizumi finally says. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

And he doesn’t doubt it, even if Kageyama will be taking a little piece of Iwaizumi with him when he goes back to Tokyo.


	5. Epilogue

It had taken nearly an hour to convince Oikawa to let Iwaizumi accompany Kageyama to the train station alone. However, even after he relents, the almost disturbing lack of conversation between them makes Iwaizumi wish he had brought along his chatterbox best friend. Even listening to Oikawa and Kageyama bicker is better than this funereal silence.

They are at the ticket booth verifying departure times before Kageyama finally puts them both out of their misery. “The national team director heard about the match Oikawa-san put together. He’s thinking of taking a second look at Hinata.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi agrees woodenly, not sure how else to respond. “Did you charge your phone before you left the house?”

Kageyama gives him a harrowed look. “Please don’t. My mother already grilled me about all of this.”

Iwaizumi holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry! I just wanted to make sure you can call your parents when you get there and let them know you’ve arrived safely. And, you know . . .” His cheeks pinken as he averts his gaze. “I’d kind of like to get that call, too, you know.”

Both of them blush as Kageyama sputters, “I knew that’s what you meant!”

Side by side, they stand on the platform, watching the train traffic speed by. There is about twenty minutes before Kageyama’s train will even pull into the station, and another ten before it begins boarding. Iwaizumi doesn’t plan to leave until the train does, even if this awkward conversation doesn’t turn comfortable any time soon.

At last, Iwaizumi growls to himself, much to Kageyama’s shock, “This is ridiculous,” and wheels around to face his companion. “Look, I’m not going to waste this time being a wimp about this. I really liked getting to know you, and I’m going to miss you a fucking _lot_ when you leave. I would go with you if I could, but it just doesn’t work that way.”

“Iwaizumi-san . . .” Kageyama stares at him, blinking heavily as he processes Iwaizumi’s outburst.

“And enough with that,” Iwaizumi says as he crosses his arms. “Either drop the formalities or just call me Hajime. I can’t deal with the idea of you leaving thinking that I see you as anything other than a good friend and an equal.” He harrumphs. “Hell, if anything, _I’m_ a little in awe of _you_.”

“Ha-ji-me.” Kageyama clumsily wraps his tongue around the foreign syllables, but the effort draws a smile from Iwaizumi.

“That’s better.” Without warning, Iwaizumi jerks Kageyama close to his chest and tightly embraces him. “Take care of yourself.”

Kageyama’s jaw hangs slack when they pull away from each other. “I . . . thank you. For everything.”

Iwaizumi gives him the barest hint of a smile because it’s all he can do past the growing lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

A couple of minutes later, the Tokyo train pulls up and people spill out all around them, but Iwaizumi doesn’t see any of them. His attention is glued to big blue eyes that shine with what he hopes aren’t tears as their owner abuses his lower lip.

The boarding call comes, but Kageyama doesn’t make a move. It isn’t until last call that they break away from their trance-like state and Iwaizumi shepherds Kageyama to the open doors.

“All the good seats are probably gone,” Iwaizumi says stupidly.

“I know.”

Kageyama is answering something completely different, Iwaizumi isn’t kidding himself. But it’s the reply he wants to hear. Kageyama knows how he feels, understands what went into Iwaizumi’s efforts to restore his volleyball career, and how difficult it is to watch as someone he never would have believed would be so important to him a few months ago begrudgingly returns to the career of his dreams.

He never stops waving as he sees Kageyama peek out through the window at him. The smile isn’t a fake one, but its breadth is forced past Iwaizumi’s trembling jaw. It isn’t until he can’t see the train at all that he tilts his head back in a futile effort to cage his tears.

His phone jumps to life in his pocket, and Iwaizumi is mildly disgusted with himself and how quickly he dives for it, hoping to see Kageyama’s name on the caller ID.

Better yet, however, the call is from Oikawa.

“He just left,” Oikawa says without preamble.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi’s voice barely sounds like his own. “He left.”

Oikawa sighs on the other end. “You did good, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi repeats as his leaden feet conduct him away from the station and back towards his own street.

“You’re coming over, right?” Oikawa says as if they haven’t just listened to each other breathing for a solid five minutes. “Mom picked up some green tea ice cream yesterday, and Takeru hasn’t found it yet.”

The fleeting mental image of Oikawa, a grown man, battling his twelve year old nephew over junk food pops into Iwaizumi’s head and coaxes out a strangled laugh. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’d like that.”

An hour later, the entire carton of ice cream is a distant memory, and Oikawa sits next to Iwaizumi on the couch, burrowed under a blanket as he tucks into Iwaizumi’s side. An arm is casually draped over Oikawa’s shoulder, and as Oikawa’s mother flits through the room with her tennis bag in tow, he doesn’t give it a second look.

After all, he’s always had this with Oikawa.

They tune into a terrible sci-fi movie on the television and openly mock its bad writing and effects, nothing of meaning passing through their lips until well after the film ends. Once it does, Iwaizumi rests his chin on the top of Oikawa’s drooping head and murmurs, “I miss him.”

“I know you do, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s tone is uncharacteristically bereft of the mockery it usually carries when anyone brings up Kageyama Tobio. “You’ll both be all right, though. It’s not like he knows.”

Iwaizumi frowns into Oikawa’s hair. “Knows what?”

Well, the mockery is back, Iwaizumi thinks as Oikawa says, “Ha! You’re just as stupid as he is.”

“Can you just . . . _not_ right now?” Iwaizumi lets out a shuddering breath. “You wouldn’t make fun of me if it were you going away.”

Oikawa snorts. “Oh, please. We both cried like babies when we went to different colleges, and you know it. You just have this dumb, tough-guy thing where you can cry and no one can see it. Your eyes don’t even turn red, and it’s disgusting.”

He raises his head and looks Iwaizumi square in the eye. “It’s the thing you’re doing right now.”

Iwaizumi freezes. “Stop saying that like it holds some special meaning. So what.”

“You like him, Iwa-chan. Just admit it to me right now, and I won’t say another word.”

But even as his mouth opens to refute this wild claim, Iwaizumi can’t seem to force the words to come out. After his jaw hangs slack for a few seconds, he snaps it shut and looks at anything but Oikawa. “Shut up,” he grunts.

He doesn’t have to see that greasy smile of Oikawa’s to know it’s there. “I knew it!” he cries as he pumps his fists and nearly topples them both onto the floor. “Iwa-chan likes Tobio-chan.”

_Yeah, he does_ , Iwaizumi admits to himself as he jerks Oikawa’s blanket onto his own lap and jerkily wraps it around himself. Oikawa doesn’t even protest, which makes Iwaizumi lament his pathetic state all the more. Even Oikawa is taking pity on him over something that would make his best friend mock him for a century.

So they sit there in silence, only the low buzz of the faraway traffic to break it. Iwaizumi is half asleep before he hears his phone chime with a message.

_I’m back in Tokyo. One of the managers is picking me up._

To the point. Iwaizumi winces as he reads the almost clinical text. More than once, he has the bizarre though of wishing there had been some sort of emoji — any indication that Kageyama feels something for him besides friendship.

But it isn’t there, and Iwaizumi doesn’t expect it to be. But that isn’t important. What matters is the guy on the other line who is restarting his life just as Iwaizumi is taking his own new direction.

_Good. Keep in touch, Tobio._

The reply comes almost instantly. _I will_.

And that’s all Iwaizumi can ask, will ever ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all! I wanted a little bit of unrequited feelings but a good level of companionship between the main players of this. I hope I did all right. Thanks for reading!


End file.
